


Saints In Seacouver

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: An accidental meeting between Methos and the recently-Immortal MacManus brothers leaves him with a pair of students who he decides are more trouble than hanging out around MacLeod.





	Saints In Seacouver

Getting shot in New York on a botched job had been the worst day they'd had, until some crazy guy came bothering them in the bar. The mutual headache had ceased when they shot him in the alley. When he'd shown up again while they were coming from another job, they'd shot him again, and for once, disposed of the body instead of leaving it where it fell.

He wasn't the last one to come around, always with the shared headache and some nonsense about there could be only one, and a sword. They moved on, another city, another set of mafia dons and mob bosses, and another set of crazies with the same ideas. Kept moving, eventually took a plane across the Atlantic, keeping up their trade.

They were stepping into a pub in London when the headache came back again, and they exchanged glances before looking around at the patrons. No one looked like they were carrying a sword, but that didn't make them relax, even as they approached the bar to order beers.

The double surge of Presence was the only thing required to turn an already bad day into a potentially horrible one. In London on the Watchers' request, the last thing Methos needed was to face down a pair of Immortals, and to have to explain to the Watcher he knew to be following him just how he was able to do that. He hunched further down over his beer, sparing only a quick glance over his shoulder to get a look at the highly inconvenient pair of Immortals who'd just entered a pub that had been one of his favourites for the past hundred years. That one look was enough to convince him that they would be the sort of trouble that Adam Pierson wouldn't have a hope of handling, and he turned his head slightly, hoping to keep them from figuring out that he was the proverbial fox in this particular henhouse.

Murphy shared another look with Connor when he spotted movement down the bar, a man turning his head away, though there wasn't someone next to him. An attempt to avoid being noticed, that they'd seen before, and made use of when they needed to. Raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head, the question not needing said to be understood. Connor shrugged, and reached for his beer when it arrived, heading down the bar to slide onto the stool next to the stranger.

It was, after all, their best chance at getting an answer without getting a sword swung at them. Since he hadn't left already, or approached them with the babble they'd gotten used to when they encountered someone whose presence gave them the headache. Along with the fact that the headache intensified a bit as they approached them, though they knew from experience it would fade the longer they stayed around him.

"Hallo." Murphy took the stool on the other side of the man from his brother, setting his beer down in front of him.

Perfect. Just sodding perfect. He really should have just gotten up and left the moment he sensed them. He gave the one who'd spoken Adam Pierson's grumpiest expression.

As expected, it was like trying to kill an elephant with a flyswatter. "Look," he said flatly, keeping all of his sharp edges very carefully hidden, "It's been a very long day, and I'm not interested. Let me finish my beer and I'll be gone." If he was going to have to fight them, either both at once or one after the other, it was better to be underestimated. Immortals who hunted in pairs weren't likely to back off if they thought their prey had teeth. In his experience, it only made them more eager.

"We're not looking for trouble." Connor took up the conversational thread easily, while Murphy took a drink of his beer. "Just have some questions."

Murphy kept a careful eye on the man, leaning against the bar, hoping they'd get somewhere other than the usual end result of these encounters. The whole thing was getting annoying, particularly since not all the nut-cases they'd shot had stayed away after an encounter or two.

"About what?" Methos asked. This probably wasn't the sort of conversation to have in public, but there was no way he was going anywhere with these two, not while there was a Watcher sitting in the corner of the bar.

"You're like the rest who come up to us with some crazy shite and swords." Murphy shrugged. "Without the crazy."

The headache was a dead give-away, though neither of them was entirely certain he'd actually tell them anything. It was worth asking, though, and they could always get Smecker to find information on him later, and track him down elsewhere if they had to. It wasn't like they'd been willing to deal with the nut-jobs long enough to find answers.

This was marginally better than a pair of headhunters -- assuming it could be believed. Methos couldn't remember any Immortals who'd met up before realizing what they were, but there were cases of pre-Immortals who'd become Immortal together. Assuming that this wasn't an attempt at luring him outside. An isolated table wasn't his first choice for explaining Immortality to a pair of infant hoodlums -- there was something about them that reminded him disconcertingly of himself and Kronos -- but it beat giving them a chance to take him out in an alley, or betraying his age to the Watchers.

He pointed to the (thankfully unoccupied) corner table in the back of the room, and resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at the suddenly bright-eyed Watcher. "Over there. I am not having this discussion in the middle of a crowd." He'd have preferred to make them go first, but he wanted his back to the wall, so he eeled his way past various drunks and revelers and slid into the booth.

Picking up their beers, Murphy and Connor followed, both relaxing slightly when he had indicated the table rather than saying something about going outside. That had been the one thing they'd noticed all the others had in common, the desire to keep whatever they planned to do out of the eyes of the public.

They slid in on either side of the booth, not giving him the chance to leave until they'd gotten the answers they were looking for. Mirror-image echoes of each other as they looked at him with expectant expressions on their faces. Waiting for an explanation for what the fuck was going on that would cause the headaches, the crazies chasing them with swords.

Methos had to fight to keep Adam Pierson's irritated harmlessness in the forefront when he realized they'd neatly trapped him. He wanted to reach for the derringer in his pocket, but knew that, recently Immmortal or no, these two would notice -- and disapprove -- of that sort of move. He had a feeling that they were the type whose disapproval would be loud, and very public.

"You're Immortal," he said bluntly. "You're not the only ones, and some of the others are going to try and cut your heads off. Congratulations. Go find a pair of swords and figure out how to use them." _And leave me alone_, he didn't add, figuring he didn't need to.

"Immortal?" Connor raised an eyebrow, though the idea wasn't too much of a surprise, when they'd woken up instead of staying dead. Though what the hell being Immortal meant, other than staying alive when they should die, and having crazies come around looking to chop off their heads, he wasn't certain.

"Why swords?" Murphy added. The thought of simply shooting the bastards that came after them, and using the large knife he carried to take their heads off was really more appealing to him than learning how to fight with a weapon that was a bit more difficult to get through customs on his person.

Methos drained his beer and signalled for another, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't actually get a headache from dealing with these two, but that didn't make him any happier about doing so. "Because as tempting as it may be to simply shoot other Immortals and then take their heads off, there are rules, and consequences for breaking them."

He paused as one of the barmaids delivered his fresh beer, and took a long swallow before continuing. "Combat has to be one on one. Bladed weapons only. Shooting someone and taking their head is not just bad form, but likely to get you hunted down by people who have had a lot more time than the pair of you to get very, very good at killing. No fights on Holy Ground." He eyed them sourly. "Anyone's Holy Ground. Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, even Satanist. If it's part of a belief system, don't fight there. The consequences would be unpleasant, and possibly fatal. Permanently."

He leaned back against the bench, giving himself a bit more room in case one of the two -- or both of them -- decided to start with him.

Meeting Connor's gaze across the table, Murphy shrugged, not entirely bothered by what had just been outlined. Willing to take the man at his word, instincts all saying he was telling them the truth.

"Never kill in a house of God anyway." Connor echoed his brother's shrug, looking over at the man. "It isn't right." Only once had he come close, and Rocco had had the sense not to push him that far.

"Haven't taken off their heads, either." Murphy took a drink from his beer. "So, just bladed weapons? Doesn't mean it has to be a sword, now does it?"

"No," Methos said irritably, "but I wouldn't recommend using anything else. Knives aren't exactly effective, and an axe is hardly the easiest weapon to master." He took another swallow of beer. "And if you were thinking chainsaws, think again. There's no chance of wielding it with the sort of finesse you'll need against an Immortal. A lot of us are Olympic-calibre." And most were better, Olympic fencers never having been required to fight for their lives.

"Those aren't swords." Murphy had an image in his head of what a sword was, and the sort of weapon that fencers had weren't what he thought of. "They're wires with handles."

"Why cut off heads?" Connor kicked his brother under the table, since he couldn't exactly reach across and smack him in the back of the head.

"True," Methos allowed. "Most Immortals use broadswords, or something similar." His own Ivanhoe was a comforting weight under his coat. "And you cut off heads because that's the only way you can permanently kill one of us." He grimaced. "It's called the Game, and the philosophy behind it is that we're supposed to kill each other off until only one is left. That one gets the Prize -- and don't ask me what that is, because I don't know. No one does. Personally, I think the whole thing's ridiculous. I don't like fighting, and I haven't the slightest bit of interest in the Game, so long as it stays far away from me."

They exchanged another look, the reason why they'd had crazies showing up clicking into place. Along with a shared thought that there was no way they were playing that sort of game. That they couldn't be killed by some mobster with a gun was a blessing they hadn't sought, but the crazy it came with...

Well, if whoever came after them was particularly persistent, maybe it would be a good thing to learn how to fight with swords, but they still both preferred the guns they carried under their pea-coats. And dumping the bodies into the nearest body of running water.

"So the ones who came after us were after some Prize?" Murphy made a face, shaking his head. "Stupid fucks."

"Yes, well, most of them probably believe in it. These are men and women who grew up long before the Age of Reason. Given that background, it's not so surprising," Methos said. "And they'll probably be back. Get yourselves a pair of swords. All it takes is a lucky shot, and you're absolutely defenseless until you wake up again. And stay the hell away from mortals. We've kept our existence a secret for millennia. If it looks as if the pair of you are going to jeopardize it, you'll die. Quickly."

He drained his beer again. "Now, if you'll excuse me? I've things to do that don't include sitting in a pub all night." Though he'd been planning on doing just that, before the pair of them showed up. "Find a pair of swords, find a teacher to show you how to use them. Holy Ground is a sanctuary, should you need one."

Connor drained his beer, neither of the twins actually moving from their positions on either side of the booth. They didn't actually speak, though their gazes were fixed on each other, a wordless conversation that had baffled more than one person. Making up their minds on what to do before they looked back at the man, whose name they still hadn't gotten.

"You can teach us." Murphy met his gaze steadily, his expression unyielding. He still didn't much like the idea of being forced to fight with a sword, though he thought he could handle fighting on his own. It wasn't like he and Connor didn't take on their own fair share during bar fights, and he knew that if things went really south, he could rely on his twin to even the odds, just as he would even the odds for Connor if he needed it.

"No, I really can't," Methos demurred, letting Adam's nervousness back into his expression. "I already told you. I don't like to fight." He glanced around the bar as if looking for an escape, and forced himself to keep both hands on the table. The best way out of this, he was sure, lay in convincing the pair of them that he would be all but useless as a teacher. "I'm a grad student. You need someone with a few centuries under his belt, not me." Not a five thousand year old Immortal who was tired of the Game and everything in it.

"Not liking to fight doesn't mean you can't fight," Connor pointed out, stubbornly not moving. The man's reactions had his hackles rising, like there was something he was hiding from them. Not that he blamed him for keeping secrets, not if other kept coming around looking to chop his head off, like they did with him and Murphy.

"We don't need someone whose first reaction is to try to go after us with a sword," Murphy added. Which had been the only sort they'd actually encountered before. There might have been others, but they never got close enough for either of the twins to spot them, and ask about this. Or even possibly ask for a teacher.

"Just need someone to teach us how to use swords, anyway." Connor shrugged. They'd been keeping themselves from being found out for years now, while leaving a trail of dead mobsters and mafiosos behind them. Of course, Smecker had given them a hand sometimes, but they could always find others to help them with that when he retired.

"Maybe you should ask someone who isn't in the middle of his doctoral thesis," Methos snapped. "No. Nein, nyet, non, no." For a moment, he thought about sending them to MacLeod, and almost did, if only for the entertainment value of the whole thing.

"Look, I don't know anything about you. Immortality isn't proof of anything. For all I know, the pair of you could be... I don't know, serial killers, or Mafia assassins. I am a student. I lead a very low-profile existence, and the two of you would be anything but helpful in that regard." Besides, he didn't want to get near anyone

"I don't know you," he finished, "and I'm certainly not about to spend the next decade or so with a pair of strangers."

"We're not mafiosos." Murphy's expression went cold and hard at that suggestion. "We're not evil men."

They didn't deny the charge of being serial killers, because they knew that law-enforcement labeled them as such. Even if they did get rid of men that the system often couldn't touch.

"We'll come to you. And we're good at keeping a low profile." It wouldn't hurt them to take a few months, or even a couple of years, away from their crusade. Let the world think they'd been killed or arrested for a while, and the mafiosos drop their guard.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Methos snapped, exasperated. He put his glass down with a thump. "Neither of you knows the first thing about me." He sighed. "I could be a serial killer myself, or just shit with a sword. Maybe I've just spun you a pretty fairy-tale, and I'm protesting for show, because I want to kill you myself. Go _away_, children. Find someone else; I'm not interested in taking on any mo-- any students." He was so irritated that he'd nearly forgotten the Watcher in the room, but he hadn't noticed that they'd not denied being serial killers. Caspian had been more than enough of that sort of thing for a thousand lifetimes and more.

Add in the fact that all of his students had predeceased him, and the entire situation became one that he wouldn't willingly touch with a barge pole.

Murphy snorted, and Connor just watched the man steadily, not having missed the slip. "If you were a killer, we'd have shot you already." Audience or no audience, though they generally preferred not to have one. "You've taught before, and you're not as young as you want us to think you are."

It was good to know that he'd managed to hide that much of himself, but Methos was less than pleased to see that they'd caught his little slips. He looked down at the glass on the table. Some Watchers could read lips, and he didn't want his next words recorded anywhere. "All of my students are dead." He looked up again. "And we're all killers, every one of us. You, too, or someone would have gotten you already."

"Doesn't make you a serial killer, or an evil man." Murphy finished his own beer, and waved the barmaid over, ordering two whiskeys. Waiting until the drinks were set in front him and Connor before he added, "We know evil men."

"Fine, I'm not evil." Methos rolled his eyes, and drained his beer before signaling for a shot of his own. "You two are going to follow me around and annoy me until I give in, aren't you?" He wasn't pleased by the idea, but it was better than some of the ways he'd been coerced over the past five millenia.

They just grinned in unison, lifting their glasses in toast to the idea, draining the shots. "Aye."

"We would."

If there was anything that would attract more Watcher attention than his taking the two of them as students, it would be having them follow him around and refusing to give in. The barmaid delivered his shot, and he drained it in one quick movement. "Fine," he agreed, with bad grace. "But you do what I say, when I say to do it, or I'll bloody well take your heads myself."

"Aye." They nodded, agreeing to the caveat without protest. For now, they'd listen, and they'd learn what they needed to learn about this whole Immortality bit. And maybe they'd tell Smecker what the weird incidents lately had been all about.

"Fine. Now do me a favour and _go away_," Methos told them. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're being watched."

Connor nodded, glancing around the bar to look for who was watching. Always wary of people keeping an eye on them, with the last two and a half years worth of bodies. He got up after a brief moment, he and Murphy heading for the door. It was time for a call to Smecker, and get him to find the name the man went by, and where to track him down at.

Methos sighed, and went after them. Damn Duncan MacLeod anyway. He'd been perfectly content with no conscience, until That Bloody Scot had come along. He tapped the nearest of the two on the shoulder, and waited until the man turned around. "Adam Pierson," he offered. "I've a plane back to the States tomorrow at nine-thirty. PM. Find seats on it, or meet me in Seacouver, WA. I don't much care which."

"Connor, my brother's Murphy." Connor gave him an easy smile. "We'll meet you there." Since they could probably get Smecker to get them an earlier flight, and that would give them a chance to check out possible flats to crash in.

who could take 'doesn't like to fight' and get 'doesn't mean he can't' from that. Nor did he particularly want to share the extent of his abilities with these two.

~ ~~ ~

"What is it with Immortals and bars?" Murphy asked as they paused outside another bar, in search of one that served a decent beer with an atmosphere that was more neighborhood pub than local dive. It hadn't taken them too long to find a cheap flat, or decent take-out that would deliver there, and they'd taken the rest of the evening to explore the city.

Connor shrugged, reaching out to push the door open, and head inside. Even if the Immortal inside decided to cause trouble, they still were carrying, and two bullets would stop even them. Maybe not as permanently as mortals, but they didn't need it to be permanent. He spotted Adam at the bar as they headed over, and a bit of a grin crossed his face.

Murphy shared the smile, sitting down next to Adam as Connor looked over the bar at the beer selection on tap.

"Oh, lovely," Methos said sourly. "You two showed up after all." He'd been half-hoping that the pair of them would get lost in transit, like luggage. The desire had only intensified after enduring fifteen minutes' worth of Joe's deeply amused mockery -- which had, fortunately, included a history of the two reprobates he'd agreed to train. Fortunately, MacLeod was out of town -- otherwise, the fireworks would have been the stuff of which legends are made. "Joe, this is Connor and Murphy McManus. Connor, Murphy, Joe Dawson. Don't fuck with him."

Connor shot Adam a sharp look, before ordering beers for both him and his brother. He didn't like that Adam had managed to find out their family name already, when they hadn't actually shared it with him. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Fortunately, Joe seemed more inclined to go back to his backlog of bookkeeping than to stay and chat. Methos didn't want him anywhere near the McManus brothers, not at this point. Matthew of Salisbury had had a great deal to say about the pair, and none of it had made Methos particularly happy. That they'd apparently suborned an FBI agent whom Salisbury respected only made things worse. MacLeod had issues with keeping his mouth shut, and there were things in Methos' past that wouldn't bear exposing to a pair of vigilantes.

"Where do we start?" Murphy took his beer, leaning on the bar comfortably as Connor settled on the stool next to him. "Found a flat, still haven't found swords." That they hadn't really looked yet went unsaid.

They'd have to talk to Smecker about how Adam found out their last name, as they'd already asked him to look into who Adam was, with whatever sources he could locate.

"I've some you can look at," Methos said. Joe's place was a Watcher-free zone, with the exception of Joe himself, and Methos trusted the man absolutely. "It's best to decide which sort fits you best anyway."

The twins nodded, looking at each other. Something that fit their ideas of what made a sword, and wouldn't be too difficult to smuggle through airports.

"Tomorrow, or tonight?"

"Tonight," Methos said, catching Joe's amused expression from across the room and mentally consigning his friend to perdition. "The sooner you've got a sword, the better."

He sighed, slumping forward onto the bar. Joe's was one of the few places -- perhaps the only place -- in which he didn't feel the need to self-censor. That had all changed with the arrival of the brothers McManus. Speaking of which, it was time for the pair to realize that they couldn't put one over on him. "By the way -- Seacouver has all sorts of Mafia, Italian as well as Russian. If you two can't restrain yourselves, you can leave. Now."

"If they don't bother us, we'll leave them alone." Connor made a mental note to ask Smecker what he thought he was doing, sharing information with someone who would give it to Adam. They'd worked hard to cover their tracks enough not to be caught, even though the world knew they existed. Ad the knowledge was especially dangerous here, when they'd planned to lie low for a while. And Smecker was the only living person who could connect them to those they'd killed since Boston... and the cops in South Boston weren't about to share the information they had.

"Good enough," Methos said drily. Since Cory Raines' dramatic pass through Seacouver, the various Mafias had been a bit more subdued than usual. "You'll also keep whatever issues you may have out of this bar," he continued. Joe's was as close to Holy Ground as made no difference, at least as far as he -- and MacLeod -- were concerned.

"The proprietor's a friend, and I won't have him endangered." A hint of steel there, but it would do no harm, he decided. After all, sooner or later, the McManuses would have to be clued in as to what, exactly, they'd taken on as a teacher. This was as good a place to start as any.

Murphy shared a glance with Connor before they nodded, silently agreeing to that one. Not that they would readily bring trouble to a bar they frequented - it drew too much attention to them of a sort they weren't looking for. And they understood the protectiveness, and the steel that it had brought to Adam's voice.

"Where are these swords we can look at?" Murphy took a long drink from his beer, looking over at Adam expectantly.

"Elsewhere," Methos retorted. He hadn't been sure that the twins would show up tonight, and wasn't about to carry two extra swords around for the fun of it. He stood up, and jerked his head towards the entrance. "This way. I've an apartment a few blocks from here."

The twins drained their beers before following Adam out of the bar, falling in behind him to either side. The neighborhood here was nicer than the one where they'd rented a flat, but that didn't make them relax, keeping pace with Adam into his building and up to his flat.

Methos unlocked the door to Adam Pierson's current flat, reaching in to turn on the lights before stepping across the threshold, mostly out of habit. The place didn't look like much, save to a trained classicist, who would have drooled -- or had collective apoplexy -- over the various artifacts given pride of place on the bookshelves and tables scattered throughout the space. The swords were carefully hidden away in a trunk he'd reserved for that purpose, and after a glance over his shoulder to be sure that the door was closed, he opened that trunk and stepped back. "There you go," he told them, wrapping a hand around the derringer in his pocket just in case. "Find something you like."

Murphy and Connor stepped up to the trunk as one, crouching down to look over the swords inside. Arguing quietly over the various blades, sometimes reaching out to touch one hilt or another, for several minutes before Murphy pulled out a falchion, stepping away to take a few swings with it to feel the weight of it. Connor chose a schiavona, the slightly longer blade and the basket hilt of the sword more appealing to him than the one Murphy had picked out.

"Oh, for -- stop waving them around, will you?" Methos winced. Most -- if not all -- novices looked just as foolish the first time they picked up a blade, but for someone who'd never had a student who didn't at least know the rudiments of the art, the visual was painful. Even Byron, whose education had mostly consisted of the flashy, formal moves favoured by the aristocracy at that time, had at least known the basics.

Fortunately, both swords had come with scabbards; he wouldn't have to dig for those. As for coats that would hide a blade, he always had several spares, and he pulled two out of the hall closet, throwing one at each brother. "There. Put them away, and don't take them out unless I tell you to. If you run into any Immortals and I'm not with you, tell them to fuck off, then come find me. Immediately."

He might have to enlist Duncan to teach the pair the basics. He himself couldn't remember the first time he'd held a sword, or even a time at which he hadn't already been an expert.

Connor held onto the coat a moment before shrugging out of the pea-coat that had replaced the blood-soaked one he'd died in, taking a moment to figure out the best way to hide the sword in the coat. He really would have preferred to keep his old coat, but this would be less conspicuous, and less identifiable.

Murphy rolled his eyes as he changed his coat, listening to Adam's admonishment. "Not much different from usual." Just no shooting other Immortals, and dumping their bodies in the nearest body of water to keep them busy while he and Connor got far enough away to avoid them as they woke up again.

"'The usual' stops too," Methos told them flatly. "I don't care what the provocation is. If you see mobsters gunning down children on the steps of a church, you'll leave them alone, or you'll bloody well answer to me." Not that he personally gave a damn one way or the other -- but that sort of retribution would bring down all kinds of unwanted attention, from mortals and Immortals alike.

"Already told you, they leave us alone, we'll leave them alone." Connor gave Adam an irritated look. "Or do you think we're no better than they are?"

"I think that it's a very fine line," Methos answered, pulling a beer out of the refrigerator and opening it. "And that the pair of you have less impulse control than I'd like. I spent time with the French Resistance, and I know exactly how hard it can be to walk away." The Horsemen had started as vigilantes, once upon a time, though that hadn't lasted very long.

"Difficult, maybe, but we can manage." Murphy sat on the now-closed trunk, watching Adam with an expression that didn't give much hint of his thoughts. He remembered the three months spent recovering from the wounds taken in the first attempt to get Yakavetta, and the spaces in between hits, and the effort to actually plan them out, rather than rush in, and botch a job again. It had been hard, but it hadn't been impossible.

"One can only hope," Methos muttered. Even if he were to take them out afterwards, anything that drew publicity to either of them was likely to draw dangerously unwelcome attention to himself. "Want a beer?" he asked, pulling two from the refrigerator and offering them to his not-quite-unwelcome guests. If they were going to be his students, they needed to know about the Watchers, and it was the sort of information best imparted to Immortals with full hands, no matter how new they were.

"Aye, a beer would be nice." Connor accepted the bottles, handing one off to his brother before he opened his. Settling next to his brother, taking a moment to figure out how to sit with a sword tucked under the coat he was wearing. It was a rather odd feeling to have a sword, almost like in those moments right before their second hit, slightly awkward and exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time.

Methos opened his own beer and took a long swallow before leaning against the counter. "The pair of you need to know that you're likely to be followed from here on out." Being blunt seemed to be the way to go with the McManus brothers. "The organization's called the Watchers, and they've been following Immortals around for about four thousand years now, recording what we do. They're almost always harmless, and they're sworn not to interfere, either in our lives or in the Game."

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain his own involvement, then shrugged. "I used to work for them. Recently. It's one of the reasons I didn't want to take you on as students. I'm too young -- or they think so, anyway. I really don't want them finding out that they're wrong. The results would be...unpleasant. The non-interference clause doesn't cover an Immortal who infiltrated their ranks."

Murphy gave him a lopsided grin, taking a long drink of his beer. "We're already followed, mostly." Smecker always knew where they were, even if most of the time because they told him where they were, and he knew what they were up to. "Be a bit new to have it all written down somewhere, though."

"Who, exactly, is following you?" Methos asked sharply. There were all sorts of possibilities, given the brothers' background, and none of them were good ones. He didn't want to have to take matters into his own hands, but he would if it became necessary.

"FBI." Connor shrugged. "Just the one agent, he's a good man. Keeps things from getting found out where they shouldn't be. He's not a threat to you." Not unless he did something to blow their attempt to lie low, or got them found out by someone else in the FBI, and then they wouldn't want to lay odds on what Smecker would do. He was a very odd man sometimes.

"FBI?" Methos demanded. That was definitely not good. Although if Matthew of Salisbury was still with the Bureau, it was fixable. "Does he know that you're Immortal?" If the answer was yes, he'd be calling Salisbury tonight. The man owed him a favour, and even if he hadn't, Salisbury was smart enough to realize the stakes. Besides, he had an entirely unaccountable reverence for Methos' position as the oldest Immortal.

"We hadn't told him yet." Murphy shrugged. They'd told him where they needed to go, and who to look up, but they hadn't actually given him the details on why they kept running into crazy people with swords. Not until they could sit down with him, and tell him in person. It was safer that way.

"You leave him alone," Connor added, setting his beer down. "Don't care how good you are, or how desperately you want to keep this whole Immortal thing a secret, you bother him, or you hurt him, we'll drop you. He's our friend."

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the habit of killing mortals." Not anymore. "There's one of us in the FBI. He's going to talk to your friend and ensure that he knows what's at stake. Immortals ended up strapped to laboratory tables at Bergen-Belsen. I won't let that happen again, and if your friend is really a good guy, neither will he. Matthew's a good man too. He won't hurt your friend."

Connor relaxed slightly, picking up his beer again. He still wasn't certain of the idea, but they could always call Smecker when they got back to the flat, and warn him that he'd have a visitor about them. One who was hard to kill, and a friend of a friend.

"How'd you find out our family name, anyway?" Murphy took another drink of his beer. "These Watchers of yours have it already?"

"Yes," Methos told him. "Do you really think I'd take on two students I knew nothing about? Some of the Immortals you shot had Watchers. Almost all of us do. Most of us just don't know about them." He smiled thinly. "In fact, you've just joined a very exclusive club. Mention the Watchers to an Immortal who doesn't know about them, and I'll drop *you*. Some of them are friends of mine, and I won't have them put in jeopardy."

"Probably one of them got it off some hotel register." Murphy made a face, his voice low as he made that observation to his brother in the gaelic they'd grown up speaking. He still didn't like it, but it was better than thinking maybe Smecker had shared information with the wrong people.

"Aye." Connor shrugged, taking another drink of his beer. "We'll be careful about it, then," he directed at Adam.

"Thank you," Methos said sarcastically, draining the rest of his beer in one long swallow. He didn't mention that he spoke Gaelic. Best to let the brothers think they had a way to communicate that he couldn't understand, just in case. Opening the fridge, he pulled out another beer, twisting the cap off and tossing it into the trash. "I appreciate that." He took a sip of his beer and propped one hip up on the counter.

"Tomorrow I'll be introducing you to an Immortal friend of mine, Duncan MacLeod. I'd suggest you stay on your best behaviour. MacLeod's damned dangerous, and something of a vigilante himself. Makes a habit out of killing the worst of our kind. He'll be teaching you the absolute basics of swordplay, once I wrangle him into it." No need to mention why -- to say that the feel of a blade in his hand was so second-nature that he didn't even know where to start when it came to a pair of absolute novices. "He's very, very good. The Watchers think he's the One."

"'The One'?" Connor let out a bark of laughter, sharing an amused look with Murphy. "That have something to do with the 'Prize' and the Game you mentioned in London?"

"It does. It's the term the Watchers use for the winner. 'In the end, there will be only one, and that one will win the Prize'," Methos quoted. "You're Immortal because there's something in you that heals you, that keeps you from aging. It's the reason we can sense other Immortals. Cut a head off, and that power will enter you. You'll get memories, strength, all sorts of lovely extras. It's called a Quickening, and it can be as addictive as heroin. It's also a bit conspicuous -- looks like a lightning storm." It could also be incredibly painful and threaten to overwhelm, and only got worse as an Immortal got older -- at least it did based on Methos' own experience. "It's incapacitating, at least temporarily. Take a head and you'll need somewhere safe to hide out while you wait out the worst of it."

The twins shared a thoughtful look, neither speaking for a long moment. Their thoughts paralleling each other - that whatever the whole mess was, they'd rather not get involved if they could help it. There were more important things, once they'd learned the whole 'fight with a sword' bit that would help keep them alive.

"Sounds like fun." Murphy finished off his beer, setting the empty bottle beside him. "Doesn't sound like something to go out looking for, though."

"Wait until you take your first one before saying that," Methos remarked. "Even I can appreciate the appeal, and I'm less interested in the Game than any Immortal you'll ever meet." Five thousand years and more would do that to a man, even a man who'd once been Death, and who'd become the oldest by hunting down any Immortal who claimed to be older.

"For the moment, though, you ought to be reasonably safe from that. If you're challenged, tell them you're students and send them my way. Or MacLeod's. Preferably MacLeod's. The Watchers think he taught me, so it's a safe enough move to make and shouldn't get me in too much trouble." He really didn't want to find himself on his knees facing a Watcher execution squad, and not only because he didn't want to die, but because Joe would most likely be there with him.

"You met Joe. He's a Watcher, and he knows I'm not a beginner. If they find out, they'll kill him right along with me." He'd become Death to prevent that, and gladly.

"Our word no one will find out from us." Connor finished his beer, settling his bottle next to Murphy's. The idea of sending other Immortals to go deal with someone else, instead of worrying they'd show up again after being shot was a relief, and it went without saying that they'd take Adam's suggestion to do so.

Methos nodded gravely. "I'll accept it." He wouldn't be rude enough to threaten them with the consequences for breaking it. Those ought to be pretty clear by now -- and if the McManuses didn't believe that Adam Pierson could take them, it would only be a more effective surprise.

"If you're careful," he said, "you can live for a very long time. Millenia, even. I know several Immortals who count their age in centuries, and more than a few who've reached four digits. It's worth it, so don't get yourselves killed over something stupid. I'll do what I can for you, but I won't risk my own neck." Not for students, not any more. Not since Byron died.

Murphy shrugged. "We won't ask you to."

For them, that they'd gotten him to agree to teach them how to use the swords he'd given them was enough. The swords themselves, or anything else he taught or gave them, was just a bonus.

"Good." Methos finished off his second beer and snagged a third from the fridge. "Be here tomorrow, ten a.m. MacLeod's due in at ten-thirty -- we'll meet him at his place. Run along, and if anyone challenges you, I suggest shooting them and heading for Holy Ground. Seacouver tends to attract more than its fair share of headhunters."

Connor chuckled, the twins standing at the same time, pea-coats draped over their arms. "Tomorrow, then."

They headed out, jostling each other a bit as they slipped through the door, and into the hallway. It wouldn't take them too long to get back to the flat, and then they'd have to call Smecker.

~ ~~ ~

Smecker straightened his suit jacket a moment before pushing open the door to the little blues bar he'd dug up in searching for haunts and friends of this Adam Pierson the twins had mentioned in their last phone call. It didn't look like much, but he knew that even the smallest thing could be the piece that made the rest fall together. Not that he had a whole lot of pieces of the puzzle that was Adam Pierson, and why he had the answers to the nut-jobs the twins had been encountering for the last ten months.

Inside, it didn't look any different from what he imagined, a simple sort of bar that was almost homey. It brought a bit of a sardonic smile to Smecker's face as he made his way to the bar itself, settling on a stool near the register. Watching the scattering of patrons, and the bartender, and sizing up the place. Trying to place what brought a graduate student to a place that looked to cater more to a working crowd.

"Whiskey, neat," he ordered when the bartender came over toward his end of the bar.

Joe poured the requested drink, trying to size up the visitor. Most of his patrons were regulars, and the few that weren't were usually Immortals and their Watchers. This man...well, he might be Immortal, given the length of his coat -- but there was something about him that shouted 'cop', and his face wasn't one that Joe recognized. Granted, he wasn't as up on Immortals as was Methos -- but he could usually at least tell whether or not a face looked familiar. This one didn't.

The way the bartender was watching him made Smecker raise an eyebrow, tossing the shot back with practiced ease as he watched him right back. Curious about what had the bartender watching him, though it could - and probably was - as simple as the fact he wasn't a regular. A place like this wouldn't have a lot of traffic that wasn't regulars. Which, if Adam Pierson really did hang out here, made it both a good place and a bad place to get information. Depending on just how close-mouthed the locals chose to be.

"Another." He knew he was killing his liver steadily with his drinking habits, but he didn't much worry about it at the moment. It hadn't killed him yet, after all.

Had to be a cop, Joe decided, pouring the second shot and sliding the glass over to the stranger. Immortals didn't drink like that, not in public, unless they were looking to become a head shorter -- especially in Seacouver. Federal, too, most likely, given that the guy looked like he'd been dressed by J. Edgar Hoover on a bad day. They'd had Feds in Seacouver fairly recently, though Matthew McCormick didn't really count.

"Travelling through?" he asked.

"I haven't made up my mind on that yet." Smecker smiled, brief and sardonic, before tossing back the second shot as easily as the first. He glanced over the beer on tap, his smile returning at the selection. If the twins didn't find this place inside of a day of their arrival, he'd have to ask who was having a laugh at his expense. Certainly they'd enjoy the beer here, and the whiskey wasn't half bad.

"Seacouver's an interesting town," Joe said, then decided to take the plunge. "You're not the first FBI agent we've had in here, either." If this guy wasn't FBI, Joe would eat his cane. With salt. "There was a Special Agent Mc-something-or other here a few years ago, over the Carl Robinson case. Stopped in here a few times."

"McCormick?" Smecker's eyebrows went up again, this time in genuine surprise. He'd heard about the Carl Robinson case, and he'd known his fellow agent had some sort of agenda against the man - the benefits of having to keep tabs on anyone else in the Bureau who might have a chance of blowing the Saints' cover - but clearly he hadn't been keeping as close an eye on the man as he'd been trying. Though, in his defense, Seacouver wasn't a place that had even been on his radar for sending the boys, and so McCormick coming here wasn't likely to trip any of his concerns.

"Yeah. The serial-killer guy." McCormick had nearly met his own end here, come to think of it. Duncan wouldn't have interfered before Carl's death, but the aftermath would have been a whole new ball game, no pun intended. He'd been right about the FBI bit, he noticed. Odds were that this had something to do with Methos' new students, especially given the records he'd found about those two on the database. Well, a name would give him all the information he needed. The Watchers kept track of more than just Immortals, these days -- which was probably why Methos was so careful to maintain a backdoor into their system. He shifted his grip on his cane and extended his right hand. "Joe Dawson."

Smecker took the offered hand, gripping it firmly for a moment before letting go. "Paul Smecker."

"Next drink's on me," Joe told him, and pulled a second glass from the rack above the bar. "I'll join you." Smecker's name wasn't unfamiliar. It had cropped up more than once in the reports on the McManuses, and a few times in Matthew McCormick's file as well.

Joe poured a generous amount of whiskey into each glass, and glanced up briefly to be sure that there was no one else in hearing range before continuing. "I think you and I need to have a chat. There are some things about Connor and Murphy McManus that you really need to know."

Pausing for a fraction of a second before he picked up the glass, draining half of the contents, Smecker watched Joe warily. This wasn't the direction he'd been intending to direct the conversation, but if the man knew about the twins... he may well have the information Smecker was looking for.

"And what would that be?" he asked, investing the question with some skepticism and sardonic amusement out of habit. He wouldn't deny he knew the twins, since Joe had already shown a level of caution that he approved of. It didn't mean there wasn't a listening device of some sort which could pick up their conversation, merely that there wasn't anyone in earshot that would be eavesdropping.

"My office is this way." Joe jerked his head towards the door. He didn't discuss Watcher business in the bar, not while the place was open, and especially not when it had to do with Methos, who was already treading a very fine line as far as the Watchers were concerned, especially since he'd agreed to take on a pair of students. "Come on."

Smecker twisted his lips in a sardonic smile again, picking up his glass to follow Joe into the office. A little more privacy while talking about the twins was never remiss. He waited until the door was shut to ask, "Now, what is it about the McManus brothers you just have to tell me?"

"Sit down." Joe had been in charge of Marines, and could still use the command-voice when he had to. "This isn't the sort of thing that's easy to hear." He busied himself with getting the good whiskey out in the meantime, and refilled both glasses once Smecker had taken a seat.

"They're Immortal." Blunt speech had worked for Methos, at least according to the highly disgruntled phone call he'd gotten from the Old Man the night before. "You keep an eye on them, in a general way. Did you know they were killed a few months ago, only to get back up again?" He was guessing on the date, but the first reports on the brothers' highly unorthodox treatment of potential challengers had started coming in around then, so he figured he was guessing pretty accurately.

"They claimed a near miss ten months ago. Spent about four months lying low afterward." Smecker narrowed his eyes, making a mental note to tell the boys that keeping that piece of information from him really didn't help anyone. Though now the nut-jobs coming out of the woodwork made sense, if they were Immortal. "I rely on them to actually tell me what they need, and where they are. It's safer that way."

He took a drink of the whiskey. "What do you know about Immortals? And how did you find out about the McManus brothers?"

"I have connections," Joe said, pulling his left wrist free of his sleeve and showing Smecker the tattoo there. "There's an organization called the Watchers. We keep track of what Immortals are doing, who they're fighting, that sort of thing, just in case the Prize turns out to be more than a sick cosmic joke." His relief at Smecker's reaction was almost palpable. "As for how I found out -- that's not something I'm going to share details on. Not unless you're wearing this tattoo. I'll tell you that we've got people in most branches of most governments, and that's as far as I'll go."

"So there is a world-wide secret organization infiltrating the government." Smecker chuckled, amused as he leaned back in the chair he'd taken, draining his glass. The idea appealed to his sense of the absurd, particularly with the twins ability to make life seem like a movie.

Joe shrugged. "It's not a Bond movie, Agent Smecker. We keep tabs; we don't interfere." He wasn't about to mention the clean-up the Watchers frequently did after Immortal duels, not to an unknown stranger. "We go where the Immortals are, that's all."

"There's a fine line between watching and lending a hand." Even if only after the fact, or at a distance. Smecker fiddled with his glass a moment before holding it out for a refill. "You sure none of you cross that line?"

There are all sorts of lines that the Watchers have crossed, especially recently. None of them are something Joe feels comfortable discussing, even with his fellow Watchers. "You're part of a bureaucracy; you know that there are always renegades. We have penalties for that, and they're strictly carried out." Except when they weren't, of course.

Smecker snorted, giving Joe a sardonic look. "Of course they are." When the renegades were expendable and it was politically expedient. And when the renegades were found, if they were found.

"Who's Adam Pierson?" He hoped following Joe's blunt statements, an equally blunt question might get him answers. That, and an unexpected segue.

Only long experience at separating Methos from Adam in his own mind kept Joe from spilling good whiskey all over his desk. Instead, he finished pouring Smecker's refill, then his own, and put the cap back on the bottle before answering. "Adam's a friend. He was a Watcher, before he got killed and turned up Immortal himself."

Smecker took a sip from his whiskey, watching Joe a moment. "Recently?"

He really didn't like the idea of someone newly Immortal teaching the twins about the whole thing. If this Adam Pierson could even keep the twins in line long enough to do so. It was hard enough for him, and he had been an FBI agent for years before he encountered them. A college professor and perennial student? He had his doubts of that working out, even if the man had been Immortal for a while.

"We found out about Adam about three years ago," Joe said blandly. "He's had good training, though. I'd bet on him in pretty much any fight." There was no way he was telling Smecker about Methos, even if he had to lie outright.

"Only three years?" Smecker frowned, taking a longer drink. "Is he even going to be capable of keeping up with the McManus brothers?"

He didn't care what training the man had, the short time he'd been Immortal, and the fact that he was an academic... he had serious doubts the twins had picked a good teacher. No matter how highly Joe seemed to think of his friend.

Joe couldn't quite hold back his laughter, and nearly choked on his whiskey as a result. 

"Yeah," he said, once he'd stopped coughing. "If anyone can handle 'em, it's Adam." Though Adam would probably have to give way to the man who'd kept Kronos, Caspian, and Silas in line for a thousand years, even if only for long enough to make a point. He eyed Smecker, trying to decide if -- and if so, how far -- he could trust the man. He wouldn't object so much to Smecker's knowing the truth, if he could be sure the FBI agent would keep it from the McManuses. "Adam's really, frighteningly, dangerously intelligent," he said, testing the waters. "Not just academically, either."

Smecker gave Joe a curious look, wondering just what had provoked the laughter. Perhaps he'd misjudged Pierson, but the information he had really did point to someone who probably wouldn't be able to keep the twins under control.

"So he has more experience than what shows up on paper." Which didn't actually show as much as he'd have liked. It still wasn't enough for him to be certain he could leave the boys to their plan to get the man to teach them. "Something the boys might notice?" If they used the intelligence he knew they possessed.

Joe puts down his glass and looks Smecker straight in the eye. "How far can I actually trust you, Marine?" At the man's raised eyebrow, Joe thumps his prosthetics. "I did my service in Vietnam. Once a Marine, always a Marine. I just need to know if you feel the same way."

"More than the Corps does." Smecker shrugged. He didn't like to think about that part of his life most of the time, after the near-brush with getting dishonorably discharged that he only managed to avoid because he wasn't planning to re-enlist. Watching Joe a moment, he added, "I never have told the twins everything. Just what they need to know." And sometimes not even all of that, or they wouldn't have gotten into the trouble they did with Yakavetta, or shot in New York by whoever it was that Don Araldi had that no one had been able to identify yet.

"This falls into that category," Joe told him. "In fact, it falls into the 'nobody can know' category. It would put them in danger if they found out, and if other people find out that you know, you'll be in danger, too. I'll take your word, one Marine to another, that you won't repeat this to anyone, even on your deathbed, or you can finish your drink and leave."

He didn't reply immediately, turning that statement over in his head, wondering just what was so important that it was the sort of secret people would kill to know - or keep unknown. "My word, I won't tell anyone."

He was good at keeping secrets, most of the time, and he'd gotten better about not talking about them in the abstract, even when drunk. The twins couldn't afford him talking about them, though clearly someone else hadn't kept the secret as well.

If Smecker had answered immediately, Joe might have kicked him out anyway. It was the pause for thought that did the trick.

"Adam is Methos. The oldest surviving Immortal. Our best guess is that he's somewhere in the neighborhood of five thousand years old. And I'm the only Watcher who knows that. The rest of the organization finds out, and he might end up permanently dead." He shivered slightly. He'd never told anyone who Adam really was. "Like I said, if anyone can handle your two, he's the guy. He spent a thousand years keeping three of the most psychotic Immortals in recorded history functioning as a team, and they didn't split up until he decided to go his own way. I'd back him against anyone out there, even the MacLeods."

Smecker was still a moment before he tossed back the rest of his whiskey, getting up to pace as he let the new information slot into place in his mental picture of Adam Pierson. Certainly the cover was well-done, with the sort of paper trail it needed to keep the man under the radar. And if he could keep psychopaths in line, he could keep the McManus brothers in line. Though...

"Three other Immortals, all psychotic?" He turned to look at Joe. "They wouldn't be the source of the Four Horsemen, would they?" It was the only reasonable conclusion to that tidbit that he could think of. Although... "And part of the strange events up near Bordeux in 1996?"

He had found some references to Pierson traveling during that time, though not where, and the events had been something that had crossed his desk as something to look into, maybe something that might connect to organized crime. It never had struck him as something that was important at the time, not to what he was focused in on at the time.

Joe grimaced. "Got it in one. It's worth saying, though, that without Adam, we'd all be living in a post-apocalyptic nightmare. If we'd survived. One of them had biologicals, and was not just willing, but eager, to use them." He knocked back the rest of his whiskey. Just thinking about Kronos -- not to mention Caspian -- gave him the cold shivers. "Adam adapts to the times. The other three...hadn't. You're in law enforcement -- you've had to have heard of Evan Caspari."

"The cannibal, locked up in Romania because he was insane." Or simply the scariest son of a bitch Smecker could imagine. And if Pierson could keep that under control, he was more than qualified to control the brothers. He wouldn't even put it past him to be able to keep Il Duce on a leash, if the man hadn't retired to Ireland. Just as well he wouldn't have the chance to find out.

Smecker paused near the desk, setting his glass down after a moment. He really wanted more, but if he was going to make this work, he needed to keep his head clear. Getting utterly plastered didn't always leave him with enough brain cells to make all the connections, not as quickly or as well as he'd like. No matter that the one time had resulted in a bit of an epiphany.

"I just hope the boys don't do something stupid."

Joe grinned. "Even if they do, Methos will keep them in line."

~ ~~ ~

Keeping still on the roof, her eye to the sight as she tracked the twins along the street was second nature, adjusting for wind and distance, the first shot hitting the lighter of the two - Connor, if her sources had gotten the names right - in the head. A grim smile crossed her face as she watched the darker of them duck reflexively, and look for cover.

It wasn't enough to keep her next shot from going through his heart, dropping him next to his brother as neatly as any kill she'd ever made. Hopefully this time they'd stay down, and she could tell Marcus the Saints really were dead this time. Permanently, instead of still being two of three hits who'd gotten back on their feet after a kill shot.

Pulling back from the edge of the building, she rapidly disassmebled the rifle, packing it back into the case that looked like nothing more than a laptop bag, slung over her shoulder as she headed for the door off the roof. The back exit would leave her enough time to get out of the area before police arrived, and from there, she only had to sit tight in her hotel room a few day for the furor to die down before leaving town. Just another tourist heading home.

Stepping out into the alley, she headed for the opposite street with a confident stride. Acting as if she belonged there, and careful not to run. No need to bring suspicion on herself.

Triangulating the shot was simple, an unconscious skill, even, and Methos was familiar enough with Seacouver's roofs and back alleys to know the best route for the sniper to take. Leaving his temporarily deceased students where they lay -- perhaps death would teach them caution, but he very much doubted it -- he ducked down the crooked pathway, reaching for the silenced pistol in his pocket even as he moved. By the time he was face to face with their assassin, it was out and ready, the safety long since thumbed to the 'off' position.

"Boo," he said, shoving the barrel into her face, for no better reason than that he'd always wanted to say that. "Don't move, or I'll put two in your head, and you'll never move again."

Adam Pierson had been left behind in the alley with the McManuses; what looked out of his eyes now was Death, pure and simple, and it was an effort to keep his finger from tightening on the trigger and ending the whole mess.

Stopping dead at the sight of a gun aimed at her face, she forced herself not to tense or run, as much as she wanted to. Her death would serve no useful purpose, after all.

"What do you want?" She met the man's eyes, fighting the urge to shiver. Even her own eyes weren't that cold in the mirror, that empty. This wasn't just another thug, and he certainly wasn't the college student she'd taken him for when she saw him on the street. A mistake she wouldn't make again if he gave her a chance to take a shot at him.

"For now? Cooperation. We'll talk questions and answers when we're somewhere with a bit more...privacy." He motioned with his free hand, directing her back towards the two temporary corpses she'd made. "In case you're remembering the lessons about screaming before you're abducted rather than trying to escape after, let me assure you that I don't personally give a damn about what you have to say. I'd just as soon leave your corpse cooling right here as take you anywhere." He meant it, too. This was the sort of drama that Adam Pierson needed no part of. He'd have killed her already if not for the worry that her employers would send someone else.

Snorting, she let him direct her toward the street she'd intended to avoid, keeping docile and cooperative. It was, she knew, the better way to keep alive, at least for now. "No one gave me such advice. It was more remarked upon as a way to end up dead."

She glanced at the bodies of the McManus brothers, her expression remaining impassive, before looking back at the man with the gun. "Now what? It took them several hours to get up and walk away that last time I killed them. I don't see what you expect me to do with a couple of corpses. It's not my responsibility to get rid of them."

Methos raised a particularly sarcastic eyebrow. "You've already shot them once? What, pray tell, made you expect that anything would go better the second time around? And I don't expect you to get rid of them; I expect you to move them. Into the next alley, please, out of sight."

After all, as Churchill had once said, 'When you have to kill someone, it costs nothing to be polite.'

She narrowed her eyes at him a moment before shifting her bag to rest across her back, glad for the case inside that kept it looking like a simple laptop bag, though she was certain he knew otherwise. No need to let the rest of the world know she had a gun, not when he had a gun himself. Others might well draw the conclusion he had shot the twins, and was forcing her to help him with the bodies... if, of course, anyone was looking.

"I will eventually find what it takes to keep them down." She kept her voice low, crouching down to pick up Murphy's ankles, dragging him toward the alley the man had indicated. She wasn't about to try to lift him up, not a dead weight. "I don't like it when someone gets back up after they're supposed to be dead."

Especially not targets Marcus had sent her after in the first place. No matter that he didn't blame her for the fact they got back up, no more than he'd blamed her for the FBI agent who wouldn't stay dead. Unfortunately, that one had stayed out of her reach since her first attempt to kill him.

"Mm. It's been my experience that no one does," Methos says sarcastically. He doesn't offer to help. Only idiots take their guns off of someone who's clearly a professional. "I can assure you that if you do find out, you'll shortly be dead yourself. That won't be much of a comfort to you, I don't think."

"There," he says, directing her to a nicely-secluded alley. "That will do nicely." The McManuses won't wake up for a good while, but this will be an excellent place for MacLeod to pick them up from.

"Now," he says, once the corpses are properly arranged, "I'll have your name, and that of your employer. Unless you want me to get creative." Caspian was the Horsemen's default torturer, but Methos was the one who'd been able to get real answers.

"I'm not the sort to betray my employers, so I'm afraid you must try your best to be creative enough to get me to talk." She gave him her blandest look, her chin coming up a bit with some small amount of stubborn pride. "And my name is not any concern of yours."

Her name could lead him to her brother, and more than Marcus, she wasn't about to let anyone get to her brother without a fight.

Methos just smiled at her, benevolently, and let the absolute ice of his eyes provide its own contrast. "I could start with your hands," he offered. "Take them, and you won't shoot anyone, not any more. Especially once I cauterize them." He hadnt done this sort of thing in centuries, and repressing the guilty shiver of pleasure was harder than slipping back into Death's shoes could ever be. "After that it's your eyes, and then your feet. Is your employer really worth being blind and maimed and lame?" He didn't bother to wait for a reply; instead, he pulled his cell phone out, and dialed. 

"MacLeod? Adam. I need you, now." He ignored the protests at the other end of the line, and gave the address. "I've two corpses that won't be for long, and their would-be assassin. Ten minutes."

He snapped the phone shut, and smiled. "Now -- I believe you were telling me who hired you."

She could feel the blood drain from her face as he outlined what he would do, and her jaw clenched against the desire to spit out a vicious series of curses. Taking the moment he was distracted by the phone to control her roiling stomach, and remind herself just why she couldn't give away the information he wanted. Marcus would take care of Kelan if she was injured. That much she trusted of his promises.

"You think that threat is enough for me to betray my employer?" Stress and fear made her natural accent creep into her voice, when she'd worked hard to keep it suppressed. "You're out of your mind."

Perhaps she would betray Marcus once the pain actually hit, but she wasn't about to let simple fear of the inevitable draw out the name.

"Occasionally," Methos agreed, keeping his tone amiable. "But not at the moment. There's only so much pain that anyone can take, even with the promise of death at the end of it all. If I were to flay you inch by inch, do you really think you wouldn't talk?" It was a bluff at this point, now that he'd summoned the Bastion of Scottish Righteousness -- MacLeod would never stand by and let him torture *anyone*, much less a woman -- but there was still a perverse part of himself that was enjoying the whole thing. "You've shot two people I've taken under my protection, and caused me no end of inconvenience. Trust me when I tell you that I've done much worse over much less."

"Threats won't make me talk." She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep from wrapping them around herself, consciously relaxing as she kept her gaze fixed on him. "Pain, perhaps. But you'd have to actually carry through on your threats to find out."

Drawing a deep breath, she clenched her teeth to keep herself quiet, to not give him any clues, more than perhaps she already had, simply by shooting the damned twins. They had proven more trouble than they were worth, time and time again, to more than just her. It was, at this point, personal.

"Do you really care that much for the Mafia?" Methos inquired, his tone pure Adam, and his eyes nowhere close. "Because I've never found them to be that loyal, myself. What hold have they got over you? Family?" That got, if not a reaction, then the careful blankness that denoted a refusal to react.

"Ah. In that case -- well. We'll simply have to see how much you'll cooperate after I take your hands." He tilted his head to the side, gave her Death's best sympathetic, uncaring expression. It was a particularly unnerving combination, he'd found, suggesting an understanding of the victim's soon-to-be suffering with a total lack of concern for said pain. "You're in deep water, girl; deeper than your employers knew existed. You can start swimming, or you can drown. It's up to you. If it helps, I stopped killing innocent family members several thousand years ago."

She swallowed, not able to hide the moment of shock at the mention of thousands of years, looking away a moment before she met his gaze again. "Not killing them doesn't mean anything, and it certainly isn't enough of an offer to make me give you what you want."

That she had a price went unspoken - because even Marcus hadn't been fool enough to think she wouldn't have a price. He'd just made sure it was a hell of a lot higher than any law enforcement agency would be willing to pay.

"Mm," Methos says again. "Bribery would certainly be less messy than torture. How does five million grab you?" Given the amount of money currently doing nothing in all of his various accounts, it's a low start. "One now, the other four after I verify your information. You'll enjoy being wealthy a lot more than you'll like being maimed."

"Make it ten, and keep me brother safe," she countered, pulling her hands out of her pockets so she could cross her arms over her chest. "Especially the latter. Otherwise, money is useless."

"Done," Methos said, keeping the note of triumph out of his voice even as he heard the distinctive rumble of MacLeod's car pull into the alley. "Though you do realize that, without your real name, I haven't a chance in hell of protecting your brother."

"Aye, I'm not stupid." She let the corner of her mouth curl up a bit. "A bit impulsive, perhaps, but not stupid." The rumble of the car made her turn, watching the car pull in. "This must be the one you called. MacLeod, yes?" Her accent was fading as she relaxed, just the hint of a brogue remaining.

"The world's oldest boyscout," Methos agreed absently, letting himself slip back into Adam now that the need for anything more had passed. The feel of MacLeod's all-too-familiar presence creeping along the back of his neck settled things, and the Highlander's scowl was surprisingly welcome.

"What have you gotten into now?" MacLeod demanded, stepping out of the car and folding his arms.

"Nice to see you, too," Methos said acerbically. "MacLeod, Connor and Murphy McManus. I'd do the rest of it according to protocol, but they won't be up for another half-hour or so. This," he gestured at the woman, "is their would-be assassin. I'd have shot her out of hand, but since I know how you disapprove of that sort of thing, I decided that you could share in the fun this time around."

Chuckling softly, Anne added her own name to the introductions, "My name is Anne Ó Catháin. The rest of the information I'd rather not provide here. As much as it does not appear there would be anyone else to hear it, I do tend to be a touch paranoid, as I'm sure you understand?"

"Oh, he knows all about paranoia," MacLeod said darkly. Methos rolled his eyes.

"If they're really out to get you, Highlander, it's not paranoia. Help me get the bodies in the car, would you? Or you can hold the gun." MacLeod scowled, and bent down to pick up Connor.

"Friends of yours?" he asked.

"Students," Methos said, and winced as MacLeod dropped Connor back onto the pavement.

"Since when do you take on students?"

"Since they won't take no for an answer. Can we please get out of here?"

Anne moved to help MacLeod with the twins, jumping back when he dropped Connor to avoid the risk of getting blood on her jeans. "These boys are annoyingly persistent, ask anyone who's been on the wrong side of their little crusade." She gave him a wry smile. "I would second Adam's request to get out of here sooner rather than later. It's not exactly a good thing to be found at a crime scene with dead bodies, after all."

"Crusade?" MacLeod asked. Methos snapped his fingers impatiently. 

"Answers at the loft, Highlander. Come on, let's go. Chop, chop."

"You could help, you know," MacLeod told him, bending to pick up Murphy.

"Someone has to hold the gun." Methos gave him Adam Pierson's most innocent look, and smiled to himself at the dark expression that flickered across MacLeod's face.

As soon as both bodies were in the car, Methos climbed into the backseat with them, and motioned with his free hand for Anne to get in the front. MacLeod, after one last suspicious scowl, got into the driver's seat.

Anne rolled her eyes at the interactions of the two men, settling her bag on the floor before climbing into the seat. She leaned back with every outward sign of being relaxed and unconcerned with the gun she knew was probably aimed at her back. She didn't expect Adam to trust her, though she was fairly certain MacLeod wouldn't let him shoot her while they were returning to whatever loft he had mentioned.

What would happen after she told him what she knew? That she wasn't as certain of, despite Adam's offer of money for the name of her employer.

"How new are these students of yours?" MacLeod asked. "Are we going to have to carry them upstairs?"

"I figured we could drag them into the dojo," Methos said unapologetically.

"And get blood on the floor?" 

"It'll clean."

"Oh, yes -- I'd forgotten. You're an expert on getting blood off of hardwood flooring."

"And out of clothing, and off of the furniture," Methos agreed cheerfully, ignoring the look MacLeod was giving him in the rearview. "Watch the road, Highlander. We don't want to get into an accident with two homicides and the killer in the car."

"I would ask how you know so much about blood removal, if I thought I might actually get an answer. It's not a trait I expect to find in most people I meet, even those in my line of work." Anne turned her head enough to watch Adam out of the corner of her eye. "Perhaps something to do with why the McManus brothers are so difficult to kill?"

Methos opened his mouth to tell her that it was none of her business, but MacLeod overrode him.

"They're Immortal."

"That's not the sort of information we give out to assassins, MacLeod," Methos hissed. The Highlander ignored him. "Do you want me to have to shoot her?" Methos demanded.

"Immortal?" Anne gave MacLeod a curious look. "I'd say that's impossible, if I didn't know better." If she hadn't killed the twins before, and had them get up and walk away without a scratch. The same as the one FBI agent, if not as quickly. "I expect my attempts to get rid of the mars on my body count will continue to be useless, then?"

"Definitely," Methos assured her, shooting MacLeod a dirty look in the rearview. "I'd give up trying; you'll live longer. MacLeod there is four hundred years old, and no one's managed to kill him yet, though not for lack of trying."

"And that cantankerous old bastard --" MacLeod began, only to shut up abruptly when Methos kicked the back of his seat with vicious force. "Jesus, Adam, was that necessary?"

"What is old compared to four hundred?" Anne's expression was lit up with calculating curiosity, her gaze darting back and forth between MacLeod and Adam. She wasn't sure how useful the information would be, but she had long subscribed to the idea that knowledge was power. Even if the knowledge was never used.

"Five hundred," Methos said severely. MacLeod looked abashed, as well he might. Methos wanted to kick him in the shins. Repeatedly. "In other words, it's none of your business. Keep pushing, and that ten million will include my turning you over to the FBI." He'd keep his promise -- but he'd promised her money, not freedom.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Anne rolled her eyes, turning back to the road. She'd ask MacLeod later, when she could get him alone, without Adam around. "It would be hard to prove anything once the McManus brothers wake up."

"Not really," Methos said. "There are bullets in the wall, and though I'm not a betting man, I'm sure they match the rifle you've got in that case you won't let go of. I've been a lawyer, and I'm very good at it." He ignored MacLeod's 'I'm sure of it' eyeroll, and kept going. "There's enough blood in that alley for any CSI to say that two people died there -- and your prints will be all over everything. Keep your mouth shut and your ears closed, collect your ten million, and stop shooting people for money. Life will be much easier."

"Two words for you. Reasonable doubt. That's all I have to give the jury." She shrugged, leaning back in the seat. "Beyond that? Well, that would be for my lawyer, should I require one, not for you."

She knew the evidence would only be circumstantial, if Adam actually did turn her over, and without bodies, a murder case was always more difficult. Nor would the gun be able to connect her to other murders, not when Marcus had provided her a new gun before this trip. He wasn't about to have more than a handful of murders connected to any one gun.

"That's if you get a jury," Methos warned her. MacLeod -- -predictably -- slammed on the brakes.

"Adam," he warned.

"Give it a rest, Highlander," Methos advised. "I'm not about to see Immortals as headline news -- and unlike you, I don't give a damn how many I have to kill to ensure silence."

"I'd forgotten -- you specialize in massacres," the Highlander sniped. Methos resisted the urge to shoot him in the head.

"Apparently you had," he said instead. "You've also forgotten how little a few deaths might mean to me. Death isn't picky -- remember?"

"If you think killing me will keep your secret, go ahead." Anne crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her eyes determinedly on the road. "I'm not afraid to die, though I would really prefer that didn't happen until my brother is done with school. But then, you don't know who my employer is, or what my employer might know. It's your choice."

Methos lifted an eyebrow. "If ten million US won't keep you quiet, then I'll certainly kill you. Otherwise -- well. I've bribed mortals into keeping my secret before; I doubt you'll be much different."

"Why am I not surprised," MacLeod muttered.

"Because you're an egotistical son of a bitch," Methos retorted. "You're surprised every time I don't kill someone out of hand." He shut MacLeod out, and turned back to Anne. "How would you feel about getting paid to keep an eye on the McManuses?"

"Ten million is enough to keep me quiet, yes, but it doesn't take back what might have been said before." Anne shrugged uncomfortably, glancing out the window a moment before she turned so she could look at Adam again. The idea of watching the brothers, particularly while being paid for it, had an appeal. "Just how much would it pay to watch them?"

"Enough to keep you fed and clothed, and to get your brother through school. Especially with my ten million included," Methos told her. "It's a high-risk job, and it pays accordingly."

"In that case, I'd be intrigued." Anne gave him a bit of a smile, shrugging. "What, besides watching them, would the job entail?" It wasn't like being an assassin for a mafia family wasn't a high-risk job, though how the risks compared, she wasn't certain.

"Writing down what they do. The occasional clean-up job." Methos shifted in his seat, shoving Connor off of his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to take a job with the CIA, here. There's a very -- very -- strict non-interference clause. If they're about to get arrested, leave them be. They'll get out of it eventually. Of course, if I have my way, they won't be executing mobsters for at least a decade."

"Non-intereference meaning what, in this case?" Anne flicked a glance at the twins a moment, before looking back at Adam. She could see the wound on Connor's head from her angle, and the fact that it was already starting to close. "Cleaning up after them having the potential to be considered interference, depending on exactly how strict you're being."

"Meaning that even if it looks like your guy's about to lose, you don't step in. You don't call the police, you don't let anyone -- anyone -- know that we exist," Methos said. "Not for any reason."

"Lose?" Anne raised an eyebrow a moment before shaking her head. "I think I'll wait until we're to wherever we're going before I ask too many more questions. But I am interested in the job. It certainly sounds more interesting than the one I have at the moment."

"You have no idea," Methos said, ignoring MacLeod's narrow-eyed glare in favour of staring out the window at the passing scenery.

~ ~~ ~

Fortunately, the street in front of the dojo was deserted. Methos was tempted to let MacLeod do all the heavy lifting, but decided that it wasn't worth listening to complaints afterwards, especially as he was fairly sure that he no longer had to worry that Anne would either escape or try to shoot them. Instead, he confiscated the rifle case before lifting Connor onto one shoulder.

"Give her your keys, MacLeod," he ordered. With Anne unlocking the door, it was only a matter of moments before they were all inside. Ignoring MacLeod's outraged squawk, he dumped Connor unceremoniously onto the dojo's floor.

"Like you've never gotten blood on the boards before," he sighed rolling his eyes. "I am not carrying a corpse upstairs."

Anne gave Adam a momentary glare when he took the bag she used to carry her rifle, before taking the offered keys to unlock the door. It would be better in the long run, perhaps, if the rifle were out of her hands. So long as Adam didn't just hand it over to the FBI, who would be happy to put her away for murder, or try to flip her on Marcus.

A soft snort escaped her at that thought. The FBI didn't have the leverage to convince her to betray her employer. Not nearly as much as Adam had provided, she was sure.

"Now, what's this about leaving them be if they're about to lose, and why is that so important?"

Methos sighed, running a hand through his hair, then grimacing when he realized that he'd just smeared blood through it. 

"Immortals fight. To the death. And not the temporary kind, either," he added, nodding at Connor and Murphy. "Some of us manage to get along, but generally, when two strange Immortals meet, it leads to a Challenge. It's one of the main reasons we keep our existence a secret. Watchers can't interfere. Ever."

MacLeod sighed. "You," he pointed at Methos, "be quiet. You want her to be a Watcher; don't you think it's time to stop being so bloody secretive?" He turned to Anne, exasperation writ large on his handsome features. "Excuse Adam. He has a number of seriously bad habits, one of which is never telling anyone anything they need to know. Immortals fight because in the end, there can be only one left, and that one wins the Prize."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Now who's leaving things out? No one knows if there even is a Prize, much less what it is. The Watchers exist in case it does, and in case it turns out to be a ridiculous amount of power."

"The Prize? Like it's some kind of game?" Anne stared at them, an incredulous expression on her face. "And people say I'm insane to do what I do. At least I'm not fuckin' playin' a game with my weapons." She shook her head, a faint laugh emerging from her.

"So," she continued after a moment, crossing her arms as she watched them, "if I have this right, I spy on them, write down what they're doing, and hope this insanity doesn't get them killed more permanently than I did. And, I suppose, try to avoid the rest of the insane sort who think this is all some sort of game to play?"

"Basically," Methos told her. "And it is a game. It's the Game. It's been one of the few constants in Immortal life for thousands of years. Most of us believe in it absolutely, ridiculous as it may sound."

"Rather like we mere mortals take our faiths, I suppose." Anne shook her head, still certain the entire idea of some sort of Prize for people cutting each other's head off was insane. Particularly one that was left undefined. "Sounds simple enough, though I'm sure there's more difficulty in the doing of it than in the telling."

"Also true," Methos said. "Though that can be said of pretty much anything." The first rush pf Presence indicated that either Connor or Murphy was about to revive; the second hit him a moment later, and he stepped casually between Anne and the two of them, just in case.

"Fuck." Murphy was the first awake, reaching up to rub at the spot over his heart that was aching with the risidual feel of what he'd bet was a healing bullet wound. He'd expected it from the moment that Connor had dropped, blood and brain matter spattered on the pavement.

He sat up, uncertain where he was, or who the other two standing were. Or why Adam was standing between him and the woman, who peered out around the other Immortal, watching him and Connor with an amused expression.

"How much did we fucking drink?" Connor didn't even bother to sit up, staring at the ceiling as he waited the headache out. Part of it he could recognize as there being other Immortals present, but not all of it could be explained by that. Not unless there was a convention.

"You were shot," Methos told him. "Don't worry, the headache will fade in a bit. A bullet through the head is never a pleasant experience. And when it does, the pair of you can scrub the floor so that MacLeod doesn't deny me beer."

"I'm going to deny you beer anyway," MacLeod muttered darkly. Methos ignored him.

"Really -- the two of you could have mentioned that there would be assassins popping out of the woodwork," he said severely -- though really, he should have planned on it himself, and the look on MacLeod's face said that the Highlander was thinking the same thing.

Murphy rolled his eyes, getting to his feet after a moment, reaching down to drag Connor to his feet as well. "Usually we manage to hear about them before they shoot us."

"And shoot them yourself." Anne chuckled, the sound a bit more strained than she intended. "I know. And so does my former employer."

"Who the fuck are you?" Connor frowned as he focused on the woman. He didn't think she was Immortal, and why was she talking about former employer?

"Anne Ó Catháin. But I suppose you'd know me better as Faolán, hit-man for Marcus Araldi."

"And now that we've made introductions," Methos said dryly, "I'd suggest a change of clothing for the pair of you." He tilted his head and looked down at the floor. "Though perhaps you should clean the floor first." He glanced over at Anne. "You can help."

"I should have known you'd just take this in stride," MacLeod said accusingly. "I, however, would like an explanation."

Anne gave the drag marks and the bit of pooling where the boys had leaked further blood on the floor an irritated look. She'd always left cleaning up bodies and blood to others, told to only make sure there was no trace of her left to connect back to her kills. It wasn't something she looked forward to dealing with now.

"Explanation of what?" Murphy eyed the blood himself a moment, before shrugging. It would take scrubbing, and something to ensure the blood couldn't be identified, but it wasn't anything that was impossible.

"Why are people shooting at you? What's the mafia connection?" He rounded on Methos, who did his best to look innocent. It only seemed to irritate MacLeod. "And you!" he demanded. "Where the hell did you find these two -- and why didn't you just walk away? What happened to keeping a low profile?"

"Today was personal, not professional." Anne answered before either boy could speak, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "They've been trouble since they killed a Russian mob boss in Boston three years ago. Don Araldi didn't want what happened to Yakavetta to happen to him." She paused, shrugging. "Where's a mop? The sooner this gets done, the better I'll like having to help with it."

Connor hadn't stopped staring at Anne yet, still a bit surprised to find out that the hitman they'd known would be after them once they started hitting Araldi's men was a woman instead. "Aye, that would be about it. The first ones were really just chance, the rest were a little more planned."

"You're after them because they're killing mob bosses?" MacLeod demanded, colour rising in his face. Methos leaned casually back against the wall, trying to get out of the Highlander's line of sight. It didn't work. MacLeod rounded on him, the all-too-familiar look of indignant fury on his face. "You picked up a pair of *vigilantes*?" he demanded furiously. "You couldn't just fill them in and send them on their way?"

"No, actually, I couldn't," Methos snapped. 

"Don't give me that!" MacLeod's voice rose dangerously. "What are you trying to do? Reconstitute the Horsemen for the modern era?"

"The first time was because I was well-paid. This time, it's because they didn't stay down the first time." Anne glared at him, though her annoyance was derailed when he said something about Horsemen, the capitals audible. That might explain Adam's earlier reference to Death, but still... she stared a moment before she started to laugh.

Connor and Murphy just looked at each other a moment before giving Adam identical looks that demanded explanation. The idea that they were being taught by someone who'd once been a biblical figure was rather a bit to wrap their minds around.

"I'd rather not ride a horse." Murphy shrugged. "Can, if I have to, but I prefer a good car."

Methos fought back the desire to shoot all three of them, and then take Anne to Joe's and leave her there. MacLeod looked apoplectic -- maybe he'd have a stroke.

"It's not bloody funny," the Highlander snarled, glaring impartially at all of them

Murphy snorted, a grin creeping over his face. "Aye, it is. You think we'd go riding around just killing anyone? Kill that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish. Not innocents, not the repentant."

"They're the bloody Saints. Just men, but tell that to the rest of the world, and most of them won't believe you," Anne added. "And you still haven't said anything about where to find the mops and some buckets. If you would?"

"And a bit more about this whole Horseman thing would be good." Connor gave another long look at Adam before looking back at Duncan. "Because he's a good man. Or at least not an evil man."

"That closet," MacLeod said, in a strangled voice, and pointed. "And --" He broke off, clearly at a loss for words, and the chagrin that crossed his face said louder than words that he realized how badly he'd just screwed up. Methos gave him a muted version of Death's nastiest look, and turned to Connor and Murphy.

"It was a long time ago," he sighed. "If you live long enough, you'll realize that Immortals evolve almost as completely as history itself. The ones who survive, anyway."

"Thank you." Anne gave him a wry smile before heading for the closet, leaving the Immortals alone for the moment. She wasn't really surprised that Adam had changed, and she was sure that he was older than the five hundred he had claimed in the car. Particularly if the whole Horsemen thing was real.

Murphy moved to help Anne with the mops and such, wanting to ask her more about why the hell a woman had taken Mafia money to kill people. It was bothering him, along with her mention of them as her former employers.

"You can't survive if you don't adapt." Connor shrugged. "What about the other three? They aren't still around somewhere, are they?"

"Dead," Methos said flatly. Of course a pair of Catholics would recognise the Biblical reference. "I killed one of them, and set the other two up for him." He nodded at MacLeod, who, predictably, bridled. 

"I'd have killed Kronos anyway. And Caspian." 

"No," Methos told him flatly, "you wouldn't have. Not Kronos, anyway. Like it or not, Highlander, he let you win. Even I couldn't have beat him." He was suddenly tired of the whole thing. "I need a beer."

"I beat you all the time," MacLeod said furiously. Methos just looked at him.

Connor watched the back and forth a moment before going to help his brother and Anne with the floor. All that the whole conversation had convinced him of - the reference to the Horsemen and all - was that he and Murphy had chosen the right person to give them an idea what this whole mess was about.

Though it would be interesting to find out how Adam had managed to talk this woman out of continuing to try to kill them.

"He's paying me, and he's going to make sure my brother finishes getting through medical school in one piece and without any student loans." Anne didn't even wait for either brother to ask her any questions. "Anything more you can bloody well ask me later, if I decide I want to answer it. I'd like to get this cleaning bit done quickly."

~ ~~ ~

Anne looked around the pub as she stepped inside, looking for the twins, though she had promised to meet them here to explain what the hell she was doing now. Since it involved spying on them, and that could easily get her shot if they didn't know why she was following them everywhere.

They didn't appear to be here yet, and she headed for the bar to order herself a glass of port, taking a seat near the end so she could keep an eye on the door for the twins when they arrived. And so she could catch sight of anyone else she wanted to avoid, such as the handful of Mafia people she would recognize here. Marcus would figure out she'd betrayed him sooner or later, and she'd rather not be taken entirely by surprise by someone gunning for her.

"You know," Methos said, "we could have just stayed at my place and had beers." He really wasn't looking forward to Joe's teasing -- and he knew for a fact that Joe would tease. He was also more than a little worried that MacLeod would show up. Things were still more than a little tense between the two of them.

"You're missing the fucking point of going out to a pub, then." Connor snorted, relaxed as he sauntered toward the door. Not entirely certain if Anne would already be there, or if she'd show up after. Certainly he hadn't missed her taking up residence in a flat across from where they were staying. She hadn't even tried to hide it from them, waving all too cheerfully at them through the window.

Murphy grinned, chuckling a bit as he kept pace with his brother, reaching out to pull the door open. He spotted Anne at the far end of the bar fairly quickly, his grin widening. So long as she didn't try to shoot them again, he was almost looking forward to knowing she was across the street. Someone like that would be useful once they got what training they needed to get from MacLeod and Adam. Even if her contacts were no longer useful, and the Mafia wanted her head as badly as some of Immortals would want theirs.

"Meeting the assassin who was formerly hired to kill you?" Methos drawled, slipping his hands into his coat pockets and doing his best to ignore the grin that Joe was directing at him from behind the bar. "You're not supposed to be talking to her, much less going out for drinks with her, you know."

Joe's grin had become a smirk by the time Methos actually reached the bar, but the expression was no less offensive. "Not a word," he said. "Not until you've given me a decent beer."

"She's the one who offered drinks." Murphy's grin widened a bit, before he ordered beers for him and Connor, perching at the bar. Waiting for Anne to come down to them, rather than making his way to her.

Connor took the stool next to his brother, leaning against the bar as Anne joined them, setting her glass on the bar as she took the stool on the far side of the twins from Adam. "We offered the bar as someplace more neutral than either flat."

"Ratting me out to my new employer now, are you?" Anne raised an eyebrow at the twins, tilting her head at Adam. "Not too polite, boys."

"New employer?" Joe lifted an eyebrow, and pulled the beer he'd been about to give Methos back to his side of the bar. "Talk, Adam."

Methos seemed torn between being smug and being sour about the entire thing. "Joe, Anne. Anne, Joe. She was hired to put an end to my students, and I caught her. She'd make a good Watcher." Joe heard what Methos didn't say -- namely, that this was a way to keep the girl under watchful eyes, be sure that Immortality didn't become public knowledge.

"Were you planning on giving me an option?" he asked. Methos shrugged. He was definitely sliding towards smug, and Joe resisted the temptation to pour the beer he was holding all over the man's head.

"I think I've the right to hire Watchers," he said -- and that was just plain mean. Joe's fingers twitched, aching for a pen. He'd suspected for a long time that Methos was behind the Watchers, and if they'd been alone, he'd have pursued that oblique hint as far as he could. Methos just smirked at him, and held out his hand. "Beer?" he asked.

"Here," Joe said grudgingly, and passed him the bottle before turning to Anne. "Did this cantankerous, secretive bastard fill you in at all?"

"Follow them, watch them, don't interefere, clean up as needed, write all the insanity down." Anne ticked each point off as she listed it. "And try like hell to avoid the fanatics who think this whole game and Prize absurdity is religion and deity." At least that was how she interpreted the idea of the Game. She hadn't had much respect for religion in years, not since before she'd started working for Marcus Araldi to put her brother through school.

"She's doing pretty good at the watch us." Murphy picked up his beer, grinning before he took a drink.

"It seemed like a good idea." Anne shrugged. "And these two knowing makes the chances of getting shot by them much lower."

"Joe's not really in a position to criticize," Methos said smoothly, good humour apparently restored by the beer he'd already nearly finished. "He and MacLeod are good friends."

"I'm friends with you, too, you ass," Joe growled. Methos blinked and looked innocent. "I'm a special case," he insisted. Turning to the others, he explained, "I knew Joe before he knew I was Immortal."

"Or this much of a pain in the ass," Joe added. He looked at Anne. "The rest of the organization doesn't approve, but they let it go, because they've had a pointed warning from Mac. They won't give you as much leeway, so keep it to yourself -- and anything you might know about him, too." He jerked a thumb at Methos.

"Him?" Anne gave Joe an innocent smile that didn't touch her eyes. "He's just the man who signs my paychecks. No different from any other employer." Not that she'd share, not even for a bribe like Adam had payed her. Unlike Marcus, she was utterly certain Adam would kill her if she shared his secrets. And personally, rather than sending someone else.

Connor straightened a bit, picking up his own beer. "And if they were to find out she decided to stay in contact with us?" Something about how Joe had mentioned the Watchers didn't approve made him frown, uneasy. Even if he wasn't entirely certain of Anne, his instincts were still to protect her if someone was threatening her. If only because she was a woman.

"You're paying her?" Joe asked. Methos shrugged. Sometimes, he was too closed-mouthed for his own good. It was clear that asking why wouldn't get any answers. He looked at Anne. "You can't mention that, either. He's *supposed* to be a poor grad student. You get him killed, and I'll kill you." He glanced briefly at Connor. "If the Watchers don't do it first. They take a dim view of traitors, and taking money from an Immortal would definitely make you a traitor, in their eyes."

"Joe, I'm touched," Methos said, batting his eyelashes.

"Keep it up, smart guy," Joe mock-threatened. "I'll cut you off until you pay your bar tab."

The look the twins exchanged was one that other people wouldn't be able to read, almost blank, only the faintest flickers of expression communicating whatever it was to the rest of the world. A resolution of some sort, and a pair of identical wry grins shared before they turned back to their beer.

"Dying is not something I'm afraid of." Anne raised an eyebrow at Joe as she took a long sip of her wine. "There's plenty of money to take care of my brother, and I've already one extensive network who'd be happy to see me dead, once they know who they're looking for."

"Get this straight," Joe said, all joking suddenly gone. "You get Adam killed, and you'll destroy something absolutely priceless. Death might not scare you, but that should."

"Joe," Methos said, his eyes startlingly vulnerable. "I'm just a guy. Really."

"I never said Death did not scare me." Anne's voice was low, and her gaze fixed on Joe steadily. "I said dying did not scare me. As I said to Adam, I'm not a fool, and I'm not stupid."

The twins would have added their own bits, but they were interrupted by the door opening, turning as one to look at the new person. Grins spread across their faces as they spotted Smecker, though they were a bit surprised to see him in Seacouver.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." Smecker approached the bar, giving Joe a friendly nod, and a request for his usual. Ignoring the momentary frowns of the twins as they made room for him at the bar, the woman on the far side of Murphy moving down a stool as well.

"Oh, this is just perfect," Methos muttered, while Joe poured Smecker a drink and gave the old Immortal a quelling glare. Surprisingly, it worked. Methos turned Adam Pierson's most charming smile on Smecker, and put out a tentative hand.

"Adam Pierson," he offered. Joe tried not to grin. Methos would be furious if he found out that Smecker knew who he really was, but it had been a calculated risk, and well worth it.

"Paul Smecker." Smecker took the offered hand, giving the man a long look. The smile was almost disarming, if he hadn't known that millennia of experience hid behind it. As it was, he found himself returning the smile with a wry one of his own. "Joe spoke pretty highly of you. Nice to know I'm not the only one trying to keep these boys in line."

Murphy and Connor shared a look and a snicker, before they shifted to let Smecker actually see Anne. "And this is Anne. Our pet sniper."

"I'm not your pet anything." Anne rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her wine. "Perhaps more your sitter than anything else. Certainly you need one." She was a bit surprised they'd introduced her with something as teasing as their appellation for her had sounded.

"God knows they need one," Methos said sarcastically. He knew who Smecker was, of course -- Joe had given him access to all the Watcher reports on the McManuses, despite his private suspicions that the old man had his own back doors into the database. Still, he was tempted to kick Methos when the man added, "You're FBI, aren't you? Still with the Bureau?"

"Actually, I was thinking about retiring. Do some traveling, maybe some sightseeing." Smecker shrugged. The Watchers would pay him, and he'd already been talking with another large organization about being paid to keep the twins able to follow their calling. That particular set of negotiations had gotten infinitely more complicated when he realized the twins were Immortal, though. It would be... interesting, the next few years.

"Retiring?" Connor frowned, giving Smecker a suspicous look. "Why?"

Anne watched him a moment through narrowed eyes, having tensed when Adam mentioned Smecker was FBI, her fingers tightening around the bowl of her wine glass for a moment before she forced herself to relax. "I'm not sharing my flat with another sitter for the boys. You can get your own."

She had been guessing, but the raised eyebrow sent her way by Smecker made her blink, hand automatically going for the gun she had meant to leave concealed where it was at the small of her back.

"I wouldn't do that." Murphy moved to put himself between her and Smecker, his eyes cold as they met hers. "He's a good man."

"It's a reflex," she shot back, slowly moving her hand back to the bar, leaving the gun where it was. "I didn't survive being who I was by being trusting."

"Oh, would all of you just calm down?" Methos said irritably. "No one's going to shoot anyone, not here. Joe, can I have another beer?

Rolling his eyes, Joe slid another bottle across the bar, and Methos gave him Adam's best grin. It was a little uncanny, to see him playing Adam so casually in the middle of such tension, but it was reassuring at the same time. Joe set up another round for the rest of them without being asked, and then poured a glass for himself as well. Fortunately, most of his regulars tended to avoid the bar itself, and stick to the tables. Methos wasn't usually in the middle of this sort of public scene, but Mac had been, frequently. He frowned at Methos.

"Where's Mac? I thought you were gonna get him to take these two for the basics."

Methos made a face, like a kid forced to eat broccoli. "We had a little disagreement. He's really unpleasantly paranoid about some things."

"I can understand the man's paranoia," Murphy pointed out, accepting the fresh beer with a nod of thanks. "Even if I don't think he needs to worry as much as he does." Relaxing now that Anne didn't have her hand on a gun.

Smecker shrugged, not willing to reveal just how much he had learned the first time he'd come to the bar. Not right now, at any rate. "Depends on why the man's paranoid. Sometimes it really is just paranoia, sometimes it's because someone's out to get you."

"And I think you're all nuts, and I need something stronger if I'm going to listen to you all go on about something work-related." Anne shook her head, giving the bottles behind the bar a once-over. "Redbreast, neat."

"What's bothering him this time?" Joe asked, pouring Anne's whiskey and sliding it her way. 

Methos shrugged uncomfortably. Thanks to the Highlander's big mouth, Anne and the McManuses knew at least that he was somehow a part of the Horsemen, but discussing it in front of Smecker wasn't something he wanted to do. Nor did he want to answer a lot of questions about what, precisely, the Horsemen had been. "He thinks I miss my brothers," he said after a moment, "and that I'm looking to replace them."

He jerked his head at Connor and Murphy. "It's more than a little insulting," he said irritably. "It's not like he hasn't played vigilante himself from time to time."

"Somehow, I don't think it's your playing vigilante that he's worried about," Joe said dryly. Methos gave him a dark look, which lightened abruptly.

"Or he could just be annoyed because they got blood all over the floor of the dojo."

"Blood on the floor of his dojo?" Smecker raised an eyebrow, looking down the bar past the boys to Anne, who was cradling the glass of whiskey. "Don't tell me, you had something to do with it."

"I might have." Anne gave him a wry smile, and shrugged. "They were rather dead at the time, so I don't suppose it was their fault."

Smecker snorted, finishing his scotch, and asking for another. He really did have to think about retiring, with the sort of company he was keeping. Just a few more loose ends, and he could actually manage it. Like finding someone brilliant enough to manage the job he'd had for the last three years.

"He'll get over it," Joe said soothingly. "He always does."

"He's an arse." Methos took a long swallow of beer. He looked over at the McManuses, then back at Joe. "Like they'd be up for the sorts of things we used to do anyway. If MacLeod weren't such a thick-headed Scottish idiot, he'd have realized that. He'd also have realized that if I were remotely interested, I'd have taken my chances a few years ago." He shook his head disgustedly.

Connor and Murphy snorted, neither asking for an elaboration. It had been enough for them that they'd pointed out to MacLeod they had targets, rather than their killings being as random as those of the Horsemen. If, of course, the brief description they had to go on was at all accurate.

Smecker wasn't at all surprised at the lack of curiosity from the twins - he'd found they were often pragmatic about the past, so long as whoever it was had actually changed. It was the lack of reaction from Anne that was more interesting. No curious questions, no flinch. Just nursing her drink, listening to the conversation.

He was equally interested in her story as related to the McManus brothers, though that... he had a suspicion where he'd find the connection, and he wondered just how much she'd shared of what she might, or might not, know about the Mafia in New York.

"Which I'm sure the whole world is glad you didn't," Anne finally contributed, taking another sip of her whiskey. "Are we dancing around the subject because of the FBI agent? Or because we're afraid someone will listen in, and assume we're not discussing fiction, theology, or some combination of the two?"

"Thank you, Miss Discretion," Methos snarled.

Joe winced, and lifted a hand. "Actually, he already knows." Methos gave him an incredulous, betrayed look. "He needed to, and he's kept his mouth shut about them for years," Joe said, hating the pleading tone of his own voice. "You told them!"

"No, MacLeod did," Methos said, face absolutely unreadable again. "I never thought I'd have to worry about *your* discretion, Joseph."

"I gave my word I wouldn't tell anyone." Smecker held out his glass for a refill. "Not even the boys." He paused, looking at Methos for a long moment. "If he hadn't told me, I would have found some way to convince the boys to find someone else to teach them." He'd even had someone in mind, and he'd have rerouted their flight to DC, one way or another, and had someone pick them up from the airport.

Anne gave Methos a bland look, taking another sip of her whiskey. "You didn't think he'd have figured out who you were on his own, with some of the hints already dropped into conversation? If he'd ever actually come to New York, I'd have been given the hit, he's that damned irritating and perceptive. Even the Saints don't worry my ex-employer as much as he does, not in the long run."

Methos looked at Joe for a long moment, then nodded. "No harm, no foul," he allowed, then turned his gaze on Smecker. "I don't think I need to spell out the consequences of breaking that promise." He let his glance sweep the group. "To any of you." Then he smiled, pulling Adam back over himself in a way that never failed to give Joe the shivers. "Another beer, Joe, if you don't mind?"

Murphy and Connor seconded the request for more beer, sliding their empty glasses across the bar, relaxing now that 'Adam' was back. It made it easier to ignore the niggling at the back of their minds that he wasn't really a good man, for all that they'd defended him as such.

Anne took a healthy drink of her whiskey before pushing away from the bar. "I'm going to go find a table, if anyone cares to join me."

Methos was torn between keeping an eye on the McManuses -- and on Anne -- and getting a few minutes' private conversation with Joe. The latter won out, at least temporarily, and he waved a hand at the twins. "Go, sit. I'll be there in a moment." A pointed look in Smecker's direction secured them at least the illusion of privacy, and Adam's most winsome smile took the worst of the tension out of Joe's face.

"It's all right, Joe," Methos said, without waiting for the Watcher to say anything. "This entire situation's pretty unusual; I understand why you told him. Ex-Marine?"

Joe nodded, and poured a shot of whisky for both himself and Methos. "He won't say anything, Adam."

"Oh, I know." Methos lifted his voice slightly, though he was fairly sure that Smecker was listening anyway. "Besides, I know someone at the Bureau. If he does say anything, I'll get Matthew to take care of him. The man owes me one."

"Really?!" Joe asked, eyes lighting up. "For what?"

"For getting that idiot Cory Raines out of a behanding in Tehran back in '81."

Smecker raised an eyebrow at that bit of information, though he didn't say anything, just drinking his scotch. He was keeping an eye on the twins and Anne, but he didn't plan to join them at the table, not at the moment. Not with the boys bracketing her, and the three of them looking as if they were having a rather intense conversation. Possibly not in English, if she spoke any of the languages the boys did.

"Who is Cory Raines?" he asked, turning his attention back to Methos and Joe. Other than an Immortal that McCormick knew, information that he easily picked out of what had already been said.

"A gigantic pain in the arse," Methos muttered. Joe grinned. "He was Matthew's first student, and he thinks he's bloody Robin Hood. Made the Most Wanted list back in the twenties."

"He robs banks," Joe supplied, "and then gives the money away. Commits suicide by cop every time it looks like he might get caught, then starts all over again. Matthew's been bailing him out of sticky situations for eight centuries, maybe more."

Mulling the information over, Smecker took another sip of his scotch, being careful at the moment about how much he actually consumed. "Why?" He gave Joe a curious look. "If anyone's ever figured that out?"

"It's a rush," Methos shrugged. "Immortality gets boring after a while. Also, Cory has naturally sticky fingers, and he grew up poor in the Middle Ages. He likes helping people, and he likes stealing things. Matthew, on the other hand, likes helping people and is nearly as obnoxiously moral as Duncan MacLeod -- though he, at least, seems capable of evolution."

"Obnoxiously moral?" Smecker raised an eyebrow again, finishing off his glass, and sliding it towards Joe for a refill. "Care to elaborate on that?"

He let his gaze slide sideways toward the table, checking on the twins and Anne. He'd have to get her aside at some point, and make sure she had a way to contact him, if she was keeping an eye on the twins. It would make his life a little easier, not having to actually chase them all over the place.

His attention returned to Methos and Joe a moment later, and he reached out to pick up the refilled glass, trusting the kids to keep themselves entertained for a while yet. Mostly, anyway.

"Life isn't black and white," Methos told him. "It's not good men and bad men, no matter how much people might want to believe otherwise. Including my newest students. Bad men do good things; good men do bad ones. Take slavery. Absolute evil, right? For most of my life it was as natural as breathing. Same with warfare. Slaughtering the inhabitants of a captured city was common practice. Now, it's a war crime.

"The world *changes*, and Immortals who can't figure that out end up dead. Matthew -- he's been law enforcement for most of his life. He's brought in prisoners who were tortured for their confessions, and now he's got to Mirandize them. MacLeod -- he's adopted all the humanitarianism of this age, with none of the understanding of previous ones on which it's based. He remembers the more brutal parts of history with the sort of horror that belongs to a child of the latter half of the this century, and discards everything that doesn't fit that particular morality. If he lives long enough, he'll get over it, but in the meantime, it's bloody irritating."

"Ah." Smecker took a long swallow of his drink, his expression unreadable a moment before he gave Methos a wry smile. "There are times when that sort of morality is appealing, that absolute certainty the boys have about who's good and who's bad." When he'd first encountered the twins, started working with them, he'd bought into that mentality for a long few months. Until he'd arranged the hit on Pappa Joe Yakavetta for them, had stood there and let them murder a man in cold blood while he watched.

"It's appealing at least as long as it takes to watch them in action, at least," he added after a moment. "And talk to them sometime about why they think some men are good, and others bad. I think you might find that their morality allows for more shades of grey than it looks at first glance."

"Black and white morality is always appealing," Methos sneered. "It's a rare man who can look at what he's doing, know it's wrong, and keep doing it. It's human instinct to self-justify. Even the Nazis thought they were doing the right thing. I've seen more people killed in the name of various gods than for any other reason. The fact remains that it's a dangerous way to think, for the thinker as well as for those he chooses to afflict himself upon."

Smecker gave him an irritated look, but didn't respond at first, tossing back his drink instead. "Wrong by whose definition? His own, society around him, or some other standard?"

"In MacLeod's case? His own definition. He hasn't lived long enough to understand -- hasn't been tarnished enough to understand -- the depths to which a good idea can sink." He lifted an eyebrow at Smecker. "You know about the Horsemen. At first, it was just me and Kronos -- and we were seeking vengeance, just like your friends over there." He nodded at the McManuses.

"It wasn't long before that turned into slaughter, into the sort of rampage that made the Mongol Hordes look like decent enough chaps. After all, Ghenghis always gave his victims a choice. We started out furious, tired of seeing everything we'd ever cared for turn to dust and blood -- and ended up as monsters. Why do you think I didn't just vanish? There are still places into which I could have disappeared, small as this planet's gotten."

That the boys needed someone to keep a leash on them wasn't something Smecker was willing to argue, even for the sake of argument. He wasn't entirely convinced that their little quest was one of vengence, on the other hand, though he couldn't dismiss the real possibility that some part of it - maybe a large part of it - was. Not all of it their need for vengence, either.

"You sure that having a sniper watching them is going to help?" He looked over at them again, a bit relieved to see the boys had backed off, Murphy flirting with the waitress while Connor was still talking to Anne. Relaxed and enjoying themselves, for now. "Particularly one that shot them?"

He hadn't missed earlier when she'd mentioned New York, and he had a suspicion about who she worked for. There had always been that hit-man no one could identify, for all that he worked exclusively in the New York area, and never bothered to clean up the bodies. A sniper who they'd been unable to catch, because he left nothing behind but a cone of GSR and a dead body.

"The thing about modern professionals is that they're bribable," Methos told him, emptying his beer bottle and reaching for another one. "I'm paying her ten million dollars to keep her bullets to herself. She's given me her real name, and I know she's got a brother whom she cares for deeply. She's the least of my concerns."

Smecker himself was foremost on that list, and MacLeod was second.

Whistling, Smecker gave Methos a mildly impressed look. "Did you manage to get the name of who she'd been shooting people for, too?" Even though he knew it wouldn't be enough to get whoever it was on charges, and he doubted the boys would be given a leash long enough to take a hit in New York, it would be a useful piece of information to save.

"Yes," Methos said smoothly, and turned back to his beer. Joe gave him a narrow-eyed stare, which Methos proceeded to ignore with considerable aplomb.

"But you're not going to share." Smecker chuckled, shaking his head as he finished his current glass of scotch. He'd lost track of which drink he was on, though he trusted Joe would know when to cut him off. And unlike some bartenders, wouldn't budge once he'd hit that point.

"I don't play well with others," Methos said.

Joe snorted. That was an understatement, if he'd ever heard one. "He shot MacLeod," he offered. "In the back."

"He's a friend," Methos shrugged. "He was being stupid, and it's not like it was permanent."

"At least I know whoever employed her before will be looking for a new hit-man. Or hire the wrong one, and get tied back to a murder or two." That would be a nice bit of justice, particularly if he was right about who had employed her before. Though he could try to talk her into telling him.

He looked over at Methos, snorting at Joe's little bit about what Methos had done. "And he never paid you back in kind? Part of that whole 'obnoxiously moral' complex he has going?" Though he'd really have to meet this MacLeod if the man hadn't shot Methos in return. As interesting as the Immortal seemed to be, he was still irritating. Even on short acquaintance.

"I saved his life," Methos said flatly. "He won't admit it, but he knows it's the truth, like it or no." His smirk was directed at his beer, but Joe was better at reading Methos than he'd been a few years ago, and recognized the bitterness in the expression. "Besides -- I'm the oldest. That instills a certain reverence that even my gory past hasn't quite overcome. Believe me, were I anyone else, one of us would have died at Bordeaux."

Smecker held out his glass for another refill, downing the shot before he spoke again. "And then I'd still be looking for someone to keep the boys on a leash while they learned what the fuck being Immortal is all about."

He probably would have tracked down McCormick, and had a long talk with him about the boys, and found out who would be a decent Immortal to go to if he couldn't have convinced him to take them on. Just as well he hadn't.

"Well, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's keeping volatile Immortals under control," Methos says dryly. "Though I think I may have to refine my methods. It'll probably help that the two of them aren't anywhere close to being as psychotic as the last group were."

"No, they aren't." Smecker gave Methos a wry smile, before shrugging. "I've found beer is generally a good incentive for them to behave." As well as an invitation to bar-fights if someone made the first move, and foolish games played on the losers after.

"Beer's usually a pretty good incentive for this one, too," Joe says, jerking his thumb at Methos, who makes a face in return. 

"You're just giving away all my secrets tonight, aren't you, Joseph?"

"Buddy, nothing about your fondness for beer is a secret," Joe retorts.

"You three can keep the beer, and I'll stick to my whiskey." Smecker glanced at his glass, raising an eyebrow at Joe when he saw it was still empty after the last shot. "Cutting me off already?"

"Wouldn't want you to get rowdy," Joe says, but refills Smecker's glass anyway, and tops off his own. He nods at the twins. "Speaking of rowdy, do I have to worry about those two breaking things in here?"

"Only if someone else starts it." Smecker took a smaller sip than he usually would, before deliberately setting the glass down, his hand curled loosely around it. He followed Joe's gaze, watching the boys at the table. "They don't like to cause trouble at a good bar."

"Good to know," Joe says. "I have enough issues with this one and MacLeod."

"Excuse me?" Methos says, pretending to have taken offence. "*I* am not the one who attracts every psychotic Immortal in a thousand mile radius."

"You attract your fair share of trouble, buddy," Joe reminds him.

Smceker chuckled, rolling his eyes. Too many of the people he knew had a knack for finding or attracting trouble, and he wasn't entirely immune himself. He just hoped the twins didn't manage to find the sort of trouble that it sounded like Methos and MacLeod attracted. The kind they did was usually bad enough.

"You think it's safe to leave the kids alone too much longer?" he asked, after another glance at the table, though the twins showed no signs of causing trouble even with each other.

"Probably not." Methos sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "Christ. I thought my babysitting days were over." He gets to his feet, retrieving his beer, and crosses the bar to join his students and their pet assassin.

"Behaving yourselves?" he asks.

"Depends on what you call behaving." Murphy grinned and shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "We haven't caused any trouble, if that's what you mean."

Connor drained his beer glass, echoing his twin's shrug. "Just talking and drinking, nothing unusual." Other than interrogating Anne about just what she could and would tell them about her past and her intentions for the future. Not that it had been much, with her working for the Mafia before.

"Good enough," Methos says pleasantly. "Just remember not to start anything in here, please. Joe would probably make me pay to replace anything you broke."

"So long as no one else causes trouble." Connor signalled the waitress for another round, leaning back in his chair, one hand on the back of Anne's chair as he relaxed. "We really just came for the drinks."

"And the company," Anne added, rolling her eyes at the boys. "Even if they need to have their heads knocked together once in a while." She smiled sweetly, taking another sip of her whiskey.

"Unfortunately, I think that's my job now," Methos laments, finishing his own beer and signalling the waitress for another round. "Hopefully, they'll take it relatively easy on me, since I can retaliate in all sorts of unpleasant ways."

"I'm sure you're very inventive." Anne's smile lost none of it's sweetness, though she took a larger sip of her whiskey this time. "It'll be nice not to be the one who has to deal with them being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"They deserved what they got." Connor glanced at her, and Anne flicked her fingers at him with a snort.

"And if you hadn't annoyed my former employer, we wouldn't be sitting here having a good drink in a nice bar, with the two of you being a little harder to kill."

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009. Unedited.


End file.
